Abuse Don't Equal Love
by everfaraway
Summary: Everyone has scars. Some are from accidents. Some are self inflicted. But for two of the Atlanta survivors, their scars are lessons carved into their skin by people who claimed to love them. Living as part of one strange "family" they learn that the line between abuse & love is not as thin as they think. And maybe in time they can forget about their scars... together. Caryl
1. All We Got Left

All We Got Left

**_Author: My first Walking Dead fanfic! When I (finally) got the guts to watch it, I marathoned it. Not as  
bad as I thought it was gonna be. I am still not a big fan of zombies/walkers, thanks to whatever damn  
zombie movie my dad made me watch at the age of four. And I would have never watched it if not for my  
roomie who was watching Vatos while I was cooking, thus allowing me to hear "I'm gonna kick your balls  
up to your throat!" My automatic response was "I know that voice." So if not for my roomie & Norman Reedus  
I would not have watched. I'm rambling. Set right after Season 2. I don't own anyone. Sadly._**

Daryl tensed, hands tightening around his crossbow. There was a rustling behind him, dangerously similar to the one caused by a walker. He spun on the spot, waiting for whatever was in the trees to appear. "Walker or not yah don't get tah sneak up on me." he growled, taking half a step forward.

Off to his right a twig snapped and his gaze slid that way as a growl drifted out of the brush. The stench of decaying flesh made his nose wrinkle and would have made him gag... if his gag reflex worked anymore.

"Fuck me." he growled when a walker came into view out of the corner of his left eye. It was... had been female and being dead had not improved her looks. Another burst into view on his right, this one formerly male, overweight and wearing nothing but ratty pants. _"Stop paying attention tah what they look like. They ain't prey."_ his subconscious told him, sounding a lot like Merle. More growls echoed around him, telling him he was surrounded on all sides. He fired a bolt into the head of first walker and then in one swift movement, tossed it onto his back and pulled out his skinning knife which his promptly shoved through the eye socket of a second. Something in the first ruptured as it felt back and it gave a smell like roadkill, rotted meat and dog shit mixed together. Yeap, his gag reflex still worked just fine.

"Daryl?" He glanced around quickly. That voice belonged to one of Hershel's girls. He thought her name was something with a "M". Martha? Mary? Maggie? Maggie sounded right he decided as he stabbed another walker that had tried to sneak up on him. He snatched the arrow from the first walker he had killed and shoved it into the skull of another.

"_Yer a mean little bitch ain't ya Darlyena. Just like a little pit bull." _Merle's voice laughed in his head.

"Go fuck yerself." he snarled, jumping back as the walkers surrounded him. He had to admit, in the back of his mind, that he was like a little pit bull. Snarling and growling and not willing to give up the fight until he died. "Damn Merle." he chuckled.

"Mr. Dixon?" He raised an eyebrow as another walker feel. Who the hell called him mister? Carl had tried it once or twice until Merle had snuck up behind him growling like a walker and scared the hell out of the boy. Of course Merle had been dosed up on Estacy or something and laughed his ass off. Until Daryl decked him, shoved him against the side of the truck, held a skinning knife to his throat and threatened to feed him to a herd of walkers. He smirked as he stabbed his fifth.. sixth... (he didn't really care anymore) walker, riding it to the ground as it snarled angrly. Another sank it's teeth into his shoulder and he screamed, more in rage than pain.

Maggie jerked Beth back when Daryl's eyes snapped open and took a few steps back when he sat up, knife in hand. "Where's tah walkers?" he growled, accent heavier than usual with sleep.

"Girls?" Hershel called, getting to his feet. Daryl's head jerked in his direction as the girls scampered off. He reconized the other voice that had invaded his dream now as Hershel's youngest daughter. Beth was her name. That one he remembered. Same as his ma.

"Haven't been any walkers since we left the farm two days ago. Ya alright?" Rick asked, walking over. The sheriff didn't look like he had slept the night before but Daryl knew that wasn't the case since he had woken him for last watch.

"Fucking nightmares. Fucking walkers." Daryl grumbled, grabbing his jacket and vest.

"Ya gonna be alright?" Rick asked, stepping back as the hunter rose to his feet.

"Yeah. Anybody eat yet?" he asked, checking his crossbow before settling in on his back.

"Not yet." the other man told him. As if on cue their stomachs growled loudly.

"Well food ain't gonna hunt itself." Daryl said, striding out of the center of the camp.

"Mornin'." T-Dog said, offering him a hand. Daryl took it and allowed the other man to briefly embrace him. "Good hunting." T-Dog told him.

"Look out for the women." Daryl agreed. Losing the farm had made them all extremely grateful for what little they had left, especially each other. Half of them, for whatever reason, couldn't come out and say how glad they were but they found a way to say it none the less. Daryl slid into the woods as if he belonged there, a creature more animal than human but who walked in a human body. As dangerous as walkers were in herds, he was by far one of the most dangerous things in the woods today.

Carol stood up, stretching to work a knot out of her back. Sleeping on the ground was not pleasant. "Morning." she yawned as Lori walked by.

"Morning. Sleep okay?" Lori asked her.

"I suppose." she answered, glancing around for laundry to grab. Then she remembered that all their supplies were at the farm. "Lori... do you think there's a chance we could go back to the farm for some supplies?" she asked.

"I don't know. We can ask Rick but I don't think he'll risk it. We don't where that herd is now." the other woman told her gently.

Carol nodded and glanced at the vehicles. Glenn was talking with Rick, probably about going to get gas for the cars. Her eyes waundered to the lone motorcycle in the caravan. The fact that Daryl's motorcycle was still here meant he hadn't left them. She glanced shyly around the camp but didn't see the hunter. Worry crossed her face. It had been too soon since the herd to not worry.

"I think he went hunting." Beth said, pressing gently against her side.

"Hey sweetie. Did you sleep okay?" Carol asked, sliding an arm around her shoulders.

"Kinda. Me and Maggie woke up when Mr. Dixon was having a nightmare." she admitted.

Carol glanced over at where she had seen Daryl lay down last night. His blanket was kicked haphazardly to the side. "Poor Daryl." she whispered, wishing she had been the one to wake him and not the girls. The memory of him pulling up on his motorcycle and saving her from the walkers at the farm sent sparks of warmth through her.

"He'll be okay." Beth told her kindly.

"I hope so." she whispered.


	2. Then & Now

Then and Now

**_Author: Lots of Daryl & Merle is n this one. Ty Soysauce & Bspooky for the reviews. And everyone who has faved & followed.  
Dixon accent is a pain in the ass to spellcheck so I've given up trying. Working now so updates may not happen often. Sorry to  
all my Avenger story fans: my brain isn't focusing on them right now. I own nobody. No animals harmed in the writing of this story._**

Daryl tied another squirrel to his string and counted them silently. "Sixteen. Not gonna be 'nuff with tah stupid bitch eattin' fer two." he muttered. He sighed heavily and looked around, adjusting his string of kills. He needed a bag to carry shit around in on hunts. More than anything he could use an extra pair of hands to help with feeding... his group. They weren't Rick's group or "The" group anymore. They were his group, his people. Rick led them but he looked out for them. He kept them fed. He had beat the shit out of that kid back on the farm for information for them. He had been the last to leave the farm when the herd had over run it. He had risked his life to look for Sophia. He cringed at the pain that shot through him because he had not found that little girl until it had been too late.

A bird flew to his left and he turned quickly to follow it's line of flight. "Come here ya lil bitch." he growled. An arrow plunged into the bird's breast, dropping it to the ground just out of sight. He moved quickly, snatching his latest kill out of a bush and tieing it in with the squirrels. A growl somewhere below him caught his attention and he dropped into a crouch. His nightmare was still fresh in his mind as he peered down the hill. He swallowed his rising fear and forced his heartbeat back down. There was only one walker and no signs of more nearby.

"Dreams don't mean shit. Ya turnin' pussy?" Merle's voice taunted him from inside his head.

"Fuck you. I was right 'bout Pops." he growled. When the world had first gone to shit he had woken up screaming from a nightmare about his father becoming a walker and then killing both him and Merle. Back then he hadn't known what a walker was and Merle had teased him about it to no end. Two nights later, however, they both learned what kind of world they would have to live in from then on.

**Flashback**

Daryl's eyes snapped open and he rolled out of his bed, grabbing his bowie knife as he landed on all fours beside his bed. From outside he could hear the sounds of dogs barking and snarling. It was not the sounds of a dog fight though. Those dogs were mean as hell but they knew better than to fight amongst themselves. No this was the sound of dogs who were scared and doing their damned best to fight whatever was scaring them. Which meant something was on Dixon property that shouldn't be.

"Daryl! What tah hell's that noise!" Merle shouted from down the hall.

"Something's in the yard and it's spookin' the dogs!" he yelled back, pulling on a shirt and grabbing his crossbow from where it sat by his bedroom door as he stepped into his boots.

"So go check it out ya lil shit!"

Daryl ignored his brother and made his way to the back door. He cringed when the screen door squealed upon being opened. In the yard one of the dogs cried out in pain and then fell silent. "Fuck. Asher!" he snarled. His voice didn't echo like his brother's would in the dark but the dogs fell silent for a few seconds. The dog whose name he had called did not come running nor did it bark. A deep growl on the porch made him swing to the left and raise his crossbow. In the dark he could just make out the hulking figure of the family guard dog. "C'mon Razor." he whispered, clicking his tongue once. The mastiff great dane mix moved to his side, growling softly as it pressed against his hip. He stroked the monster dog's ears before unhooking the chain attached to it's collar. The dog took one step forward waiting for his master's command. "Hunt. Kill." Daryl growled as his blood began to boil.

"DARYL!" Merle roared from inside the house.

"Get yer shotgun and get out here!" he snapped as his dog ran out into the yard. Another dog, this one of Merle's, cried out and a figure stumbled out of the woods. "What tah fuck?" he muttered.

"Who the hell is hurting my dog!" Merle shouted. The back door banged open and the porch light turned on. Two heads appeared from the mass of shadow by the dog houses and the figure that had just made it's way out of the wood stumbled towards them.

"You dumbass! You go their attention!" Daryl raged at his brother as Merle bounded down the stairs, shotgun in hand. He reeked of alcohol and probably had some sort of drug in his system.

"Boy I will tan yer hide 'til ya cain't walk!" Merle snarled as a few more heads appeared from the shadowy mass in the yard.

"Shuddup." Daryl growled, lifting his crossbow.

Merle glared at him. How dare his baby brother take aim at him. He who had raised him. He who had taught him to hunt. The only person who gave a damn about him. "Boy..." he began.

The bolt just missed clipping his shoulder and imbedded itself in the skull of a figure that would have made anyone else piss their pants. It's long hair was matted with blood and dirt, half it's jaw was revealed to the bone and rotting flesh was falling it's face in pieces. "Ugly ass bitch." Daryl muttered.

"What the fuck?" Merle asked, lifting his shotgun and shooting another staggering shadow form.

"Remember wah the news was saying'? About dead people comin' back?" the younger brother asked, killing another figure that was getting too close from comfort.

"Zombies?" Merle snickered.

"Ya got a better idea?" Daryl growled. Two more shadows fell: one from a crossbow bolt and the other from a bullet. They were hunters. Instinct made them aim for the brain.

Merle lowered his shotgun as his nose wrinkled in disgust and he tensed. His hand went to his switchblade, drawing it from his pocket and flipping it open. The hair on the back of Daryl's neck stood on end and he pulled his bowie knife from his belt. There was a growl behind them and they spun in unison, plunging their knives to the hilt in the skull of their newest adversary.

"Holy fuck! It's Pops!" Merle shouted as the figure crumbled to the ground. There was a chunk missing from his right shoulder and death hadn't improved his looks but the face was that of their father.

"Was." Daryl corrected, narrowing his eyes at what was left of the man who had sired them. "Told ya it wasn't just a dream." he growled at his brother.

**End Flashback**

Daryl pulled the string of his crossbow back, considering if it would be worth grabbing his arrow. He looked at his string of kills and decided against it. His people needed to eat. No sense in possibly contaminating the food to retrieve an arrow when he had plenty more. He would make up for the small breakfast with a bigger dinner. Maybe he could track down a deer. The woman would need the iron, especially Lori. He decided he couldn't blame her for getting pregnant. She couldn't help it and he had more fun dreaming up ways to torture Shane. Even if he was dead now.

"What the hell?" he whispered, sliding into some brush to see past the trees. Set back in the woods, partially hidden away, was what appeared to be a convience store. The sunlight glinting off the metal bars on the windows had caught his attention originally. There were only a few walkers staggering around that he could see. He could probably take them out on his own if he had the time. He marked the location in his head and started back for camp. Rick would need to know.


	3. No Chance in Hell

No Chance In Hell

**_Author: It took me a long time to get this typed on the computer. I think Daryl had plans to leave  
up until the end of season 2. If he had really wanted to he could have not gone back to Carol &/or  
left right after the herd. But he didn't & now I'm gonna explore what kept him there. Exploring into:  
Caryl, Grimes (probably not slash), Daryl/T-Dog (friendship), Daryl/Carl (father/son), Daryl/Group.  
No spellcheck on Daryl's accent & warning for walker killers & Daryl being an idiot as a teenager._**

Heads lifted and turned to the woods as Daryl stepped out of the treeline. His eyes flicked over everyone, counting heads to make sure everyone was accounted for. Glenn was leaving the street where Rick was, making a beeline for Maggie. Carl looked in his direction from where he sat with Lori near the remains of the fire. Mother followed her son's gaze and she met the hunter's eyes uneasily. He held her gaze for a long moment. _"I'll feed ya and yer unborn kid. But that don't mean I like ya. I know that baby's probably Shane's, no matter what ya say."_ he told her silently. She dropped her eyes, turning her head away from him. Carl looked from Daryl to Lori then back to Daryl curiously.

"Morning." Carol said softly to his right. He turned to look at her and she stopped in her tracks.

"Mornin'." he grunted, pulling off his string of kills.

"Beth said you were having a nightmare this morning." she whispered, dropping her gaze shyly as he approached her.

Daryl tensed, biting the inside of his cheek. He couldn't bring himself to tell Carol of his nightmare. She was timid enough as is and even more skittish since they had been run off the farm by walkers. "Ain't nothing to worry 'bout. Just a bad dream." he told her softly.

"Looks like hunting was good." she said, changing the subject as she moved to take the string from him. When their fingertips brushed, she blushed and a muscle in his jaw twitched. It felt like a tiny jolt of electricity went through him, like the time he had shocked himself hot wiring the local crazy cat lady's car when he had been fifteen. He had never been too sure why he had done it, maybe for shits and giggles.

"Could've been better." he muttered, pulling his hand away.

"Do you want the skins or feathers?" she asked after a moment.

"Feathers ain't right fer fletchin' and I got no way of tanning 'em." he said. His lips twitched upwards... just a bit. It sent a little spark of warmth through him, knowing that she had considered that he might have some use for the pelts and feather's later.

The hair on the back of Rick's neck rose at the sound of footsteps. They weren't the slow shuffling footsteps of a walker though. No these were a steady but quiet which meant they had to belong to Daryl. He took his hand of his sidearm and relaxed. "Daryl." he said in greeting.

"Ya got a map? Somethin' I need tah show ya." the hunter asked, nodding.

Rick pulled a road map from one of the glove boxes and passed it to Daryl, who unfolded it and laid it out on the car hood. "Saw a convience store while I was out. Couple of walkers 'round. Might be supplies: food, water, medicine. If we take it, could hole up there fer a while." he told the other man, pointing out the the location on the map.

"We need gas more than anything else." Rick told him, glancing at the rest of the group. They would also need medicine in case they got sick. There was water right by their camp and Daryl could hunt to keep them fed.

"Might have gas too. Though with winter coming food will be harder to come by out here. We need to stock up." Daryl said firmly, looking at him. There was a sharpness in his voice that made Rick turn to look at him. _"You can play leader all damn day but I'm the only whose gotta keep everyone fed remember?" _he told Rick silently, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Is there a driveway up there about half a mile?" Rick asked, meeting Daryl's eyes. _"I haven't forgotten that. And I expect you to keep that up. You're a part of this group if you like it or not." _

"It's off of the road a bit. We gotta park and go on foot from here." Daryl told him, trailing his finger across the map to the highway. It was about a quarter mile into the woods with only a dirt road to call a driveway. The smell of cooking squirrel drifted over to them from the camp.

"We'll talk about it over breakfast." Rick said. And that was the end of that discussion.

The group were not happy about being split up... not so soon since loosing the farm. But Rick would hear none of it. As badly as they wanted to stay together, they had to have the supplies. A few of them cast looks in Daryl's direction but he ignored them, only bothering to raise an eyebrow in Carol's direction.

About an hour later Rick stabbed a walker in the head. T-Dog pressed close to Daryl, taking comfort in the hunter's lack of fear. The herd that attacked them on the farm still had them spooked. "Swallow it back." Daryl told him softly. He didn't flinch away from T's attempt to seek comfort.

"Easier said than done." T-Dog admitted as he stabbed a walker that had come to close to their trio.

"Looks like it's locked up tight." Daryl muttered, pressing his shoulder to T-Dog's as he switched spots with Rick to check the locks and chains on the door. It was the most comfort he knew how to give.

"Looks like there's an axe around the corner. T cover me. Daryl watch the front." Rick whispered.

"Wonder who locked it up." T-Dog muttered as Rick grabbed the axe.

"Probably whoever owned it." Rick said breaking the locks.

"Must've thought they'd be comin' back." Daryl said as the door swung open slowly. He slid inside first and flinched at the smell. He relaxed.. just a little bit. It was not the smell of a walker but the smell of rotten food. Rick followed him in and went right while T went left.

"Nuthin'!" Daryl called softly, looking out the back door. No sign of walkers.

"We're good." T said.

"There's a locked room. Let's get the rest here before we open it." Rick said, nodding to Daryl.

The hunter stepped outside and looked around both sides of the building. He didn't want to lead the rest of the group into a trap... not after all they had been through. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Dehana!" His voice echoed through the trees and he hoped it would not attract walkers.

On the side of the highway, the rest of the group looked up at the strange sound from within the woods. "That's Daryl." Carol told them softly, reconizing the foreign sound for what it was.

"Come on." Glenn whispered. None of them could follow a trail like Daryl so the hunter had allowed T-Dog to tie a piece of fabric to low branches and bushes at regular intervials.

"Look at this place." Beth whispered as Rick held the door open for them. The convience store looked more like a small cabin than anything. It could be lived in if the shelves were removed and they could probably all fit on the floor and be cozy once they got the door chained up again. The windows all had bars over them so the place was semi hard to get into. It could also be a death trap but they were willing to take that risk.

"What's in there?" Carol asked, nodding to the door that Daryl was glancing at as T-Dog toyed with the chains. It would take bolt cutters to get them in.

"That's what we're gunna find out. Don't smell or sound like walker though." Daryl told her.

"What was that you shouted to signal us to come up here?" Maggie asked as Rick pushed a couple of crates against the door. It wouldn't do much to keep the door shut but they would know if a walker was outside before it got to the door.

"Dehana. Means "come" in Cherokee." he said.

"You cherokee?" T-Dog asked, glancing over his shoulder at him.

"An eighth. My ma was a fourth and her ma before her was half." he admitted. He dropped his gaze to the floor. Nobody had ever asked him that before because he didn't look like he was Cherokee. The southern mountain blood from his father had overpowered most of his mother's blood. But he liked these people enough to be straight with them.

"They give anyone less than a fourth a Cherokee name?" Rick asked. Daryl lifted his eyes and cocked an eyebrow at him, inviting to elaborate. "I went knew a guy in police training who was a fourth. He was given his Cherokee name but he didn't say if there was a point when the blood got too diluted to someone their name." he admitted.

"My gran gave me mine when I was a kid. Kanati Waya. Means Hunter Wolf. Merle's was Gigv Yona: Blood Bear." Daryl said softly. Emotions played across his face and he closed his eyes. Thinking of people he had lost hurt as if he had been shot with an arrow all over again.

"Your name suits you." Carol whispered, gently though his arm. Her touch was feather like, barely enough for him to notice but there none the less. He didn't flinch from her but instead gave her a small smile.

"What would my name be?" Carl asked, looking up at Daryl from under his hat.

Daryl eyed him for a minute then said, "Maybe Usdi Tlvdatsi. Little Panther."

"I like it." Carl announced as Rick squeezed his son's shoulder gently. Daryl looked at Lori and Rick for approval. Lori nodded but when Rick nodded and gave him a warm look, he felt the corner of his mouth turn up a bit and warmth shoot through him. Yeah... he had no choice in hell of leaving now.

**_Author: I apologize if I have any mispellings or have possibly butchered the Cherokee language. I enjoy entertaining the thought of Daryl being part Cherokee. I don't speak the language or know much about the culture so again I apologize. Spelling help will be appreciated in reviews_**


	4. Tsalagi

Tsalagi

**_Author: Thanks to everyone for the favs, follows & reviews. Going on hiatus for the holidays  
after this. So happy people enjoy Daryl being part Cherokee. Tried to play on his inner wolf  
in this chapter. All Cherokee translations are at the end. Language warning mostly._**

"T save one of the locks and chain. We're gonna need them to keep the front door closed. Maggie can you and your father keep watch on the back door?" Rick asked, glancing at each of the three in turn. He was unsure where the Greene family would go after this or if they would stay with the group.

"Sure." Maggie said.

"Lori, Carl, Glenn watch the front. T when you get a chain and lock pass them off to Glenn so he can chain the front door. Carol, Beth get behind the register and stay low. Daryl I want you up front with your knife as soon as that door opens." Rick told them. Carol and Beth quickly slid behind the counter. Daryl tossed his crossbow onto his back, pulled out his hunting knife and crouched down ready to strike anything that came out of the room. T-Dog turned at the waist and passed a chain and lock to Glenn.

"It's gonna swing out." Daryl warned as T set the bolt cutters down. Rick turned on a flashlight as Daryl tentatively opened the door. There was no walker scent Daryl noticed, though his hackles still didn't settle. Everyone held their breath as first Daryl, then Rick and finally T entered the room. Rick shined his flashlight around slowly. Nothing ambled or crawled towards them in the darkness. There were no groans, growls, roars or murmuring. No smell of rotting flesh, death or blood.

"I think it's clear." he said after a moment.

"Better than clear. Who ever own the place left a shit ton of supplies." Daryl told him.

"Our gain." Rick agreed, glancing at the shelves of cans, boxes and bags.

"Let's get some matches in here. Bastard left lanterns too." Daryl smirked, holding up an oil lantern very similar to what he had used when his father hadn't paid the electricity.

T-Dog stepped out and they could hear him talking to the rest of the group quietly. "Nice call by the way." Rick whispered.

Daryl looked at him in the dim light of Rick's flashlight. The other man looked worn out from everything that had happened lately. "Ain't no reason you should do all the heavy liftin'." Daryl told him.

"Hey. Matches." T said. Daryl brought the lantern to the doorway and the other man struck the match. It flared and almost died but the hunter cupped the flame in his hand. He stared into the flame for a moment before blinking.

"Take the lantern." Daryl told T. The other man did as he was told and the hunter slowly lowered the flame to the wick. "C'mon, c'mon." he whispered as the flame flickered before finally catching.

"Let's get some food and get our people fed." Rick told them. They grabbed canned food off the shelves and a large bag of jerky along with water and Gatorade before settling in the middle of the store.

"Awful quiet out there." Maggie whispered as she and Glenn shared a can of fruit with Beth and Hershel.

"Let's hope it stays that way." Glenn agreed.

Daryl put a piece of deer jerky in his mouth, savoring the flavor before returning his gaze to the fire they had built in a pot. His grandmother had made sure he had respected fire from a very young age. She had taught him that fire would burn you no matter who you are. It was a beast with an insatiable appetite and it didn't care what it devoured. Fire was a destroyer and a creator. It would burn down whole acres of land to help something new grow in that same place. Fire could hurt but it could also heal. It was a double edged sword: it's light allowed you to see but also drew attention. He was grateful his grandmother had not lived to see the walkers.

Flash Back

"Alisi? Alisi!" Ten year old Daryl Dixon stepped barefoot onto the lush green grass of his Alisi, his maternal grandmother's, back lawn. At ten he was skinny and a little bit taller than the other boys his age. Once he was older he'd grow into his height though he'd never be nearly as heavily built as Merle. His hair was dirty blonde and down to his shoulders. The over sized shirt he wore was his brothers but the shorts he wore were given to him from by his Alisi. His father would rather spent his money on alcohol than clothes for his youngest son.

"Come here vgilisi. Come and tell Alisi what's wrong." his grandmother called softly from where she sat on a blanket under one of her oak trees. His grandmother had the olive skin and high cheekbones of her people. Her long hair was already almost entirely silver. He whimpered and crawled into her lap, clinging to her. Despite the late spring Georgia heat he was shivering.

"It was my ma Alisi. I saw her on fire. She was screamin' Alisi. Screamin' loud enough for the Raven Mockers to hear." Daryl cried.

"Shh my little one. Don't speak of such creatures." his grandmother whispered gently.

"But Alisi..." he sobbed, brown eyes wet with tears.

"Hush." she soothed, running her fingers gently through his hair. She could tell it would turn darker as he grew older. His sobs softened as she held him. "Losing your mother, my agwesti, hurts me as well. But you must not dwell on the pain. Your mother is running with her spirit guides and our ancestors on the Sky Road. You, my little Waya, must grow strong. One day others will relies on your strength." she told him.

"When Alisi? And why me? I ain't strong." he whispered, wiping at his face.

"When you are a grown man and a strong hunter. There will be others, some of whom will have no permanent place in your pack, who will look to you for strength. You will not always wish to provide for them but you will because they are your pack and the wolf in you will not allow you to do otherwise. Their leader will lean heavily on you but it will never be more than you can bear. You will know the world as few others can." she told him.

Daryl blinked up at his grandmother. He had never asked where her knowledge of the future came from but he didn't not question her knowledge. "Gvgeyu Alisi." he said.

"Gvgeyu Vgilisi." she whispered, picking him up gently and carrying him back inside.

End Flash Back

Daryl blinked and twitched away from the hand that was placed on him. "Daryl?" Rick asked as Carol looked at him with concern.

"I'm fine." he sighed, passing the bag of jerky still in his hand to Rick who offered it to Lori. She took a small piece and nibbled on it, unsure if it would stay down.

"Where did you learn Cherokee? The language I mean?" Lori asked after a moment. She and Daryl had an uneasy relationship. He had never been fond of her especially with how much she complained about. She tried to be friendly to him but his harsh personality rubbed her the wrong way. They only got along at any moment because Rick led their odd pack and Lori was his bitch. If he was any less of a man he would have smacked her around for pissing him off. He knew Merle had wanted to but he hadn't let his brother put his hands on her or any of the other females. These days he wouldn't even come close to putting his hands on her... not while she was pregnant and he didn't care who the father was. Children were innocent and not to be harmed.

"It's called Tsalagi. And my Alisi... my maternal grandmother taught me. She took care of me when my dad was gone and Merle was in lock up. I learned to track, hunt, skin, stuff like that from her when Merle wasn't 'round. He didn't pay no attention but she taught me the language, some of the history and how to name people if I ever decided to." Daryl admitted.

"What was she like?" Beth asked as Daryl lowered his eyes sadly.

"Beth." Hershel and Maggie both hissed.

"She's alright." Daryl whispered, wiping at his eyes with his jacket sleeve. Carol gently touched his shoulder trying to comfort him. He didn't push her away like he normally would.

"When you're ready... I think we'd all like to hear about your grandmother Daryl." Rick whispered.

Daryl got up, pacing the room softly. He didn't make a sound as tears slid down his face. With every circle the group pressed closer together, not out of fear but out of sorrow. They all felt the hunter's pain as if was their own. Finally Beth turned and gently grabbed his wrist. "I'm so sorry." she cried.

"It ain't your fault usdi soqua." he whispered, gently touching her hair. Hershel squeezed his youngest child's shoulder and she let Daryl go. The hunter gently ruffled her hair and started one more pass. His fingers touched Hershel's back, Maggie and Glenn's shoulders, Carl's hair, Lori's shoulder, Rick's neck, Carol's arm and finally T-Dog's shoulder as he sat back down between him and Carol. It was still blissfully quiet outside and they all thanked whatever god they believed in for small blessings.

"Whenever you're ready." Rick whispered, looking into Daryl's eyes. In the fire light Rick's eyes almost glowed and despite his tears, Daryl's eyes took on a deep amber gleam. The hunter's eyes spoke truer words than his harsh tongue ever could. They told Rick that the hunter saw him as their group... their pack's true leader. Maybe Daryl was stronger, maybe he was more dangerous but he had been a lone wolf for too long to lead a pack now. He could hunt for them, find them a safe place to stay, care for their young and weak... as long as Rick would lead them. Rick cocked his head slightly as his brain processed what Daryl was telling him. The man didn't just think like a wolf.. he was a wolf. Somewhere in his soul there was a beast.. a wolf buried deep within the hunter. The signs were there but Rick had never read them correctly until now. What he thought to be anger and distrust was the wolf's animal instincts and feral nature. When he thought he knew the hunter... he learned he was wrong. Daryl blinked and that deep amber gleam disappeared.

"My grandmother was a good woman. Never lose her temper... always patient with people. Jacqui kinda reminded me of her. They would have gotten along really well." Daryl whispered. There was something in Daryl's voice that made the entire group want to press closer to him. He was not vulnerable but he was hurting and they all wanted to do what they could to make his pain stop.

"What was her name?" Carl asked softly.

"Gu le. Means Dove." he told him.

"Will you teach me Tsalagi?" the boy asked.

"Carl let Daryl tell us about his grandmother." Lori whispered. She pressed close to Rick and slid her arm around his back to let her fingers gently touch Daryl's side. Daryl tensed but only because his side was still tender from where he had been impaled by his own arrow. He moved one of his hands to gently cover her fingers. He put no pressure on his side though and the gentleness of his touch warned Lori that doing so could cause him pain.

"He's fine. And if y'all wanna learn I'll teach ya." Daryl told them.

"I'd like to learn." Carol whispered from beside him.

"So would I." Rick agreed. He gently touched Lori's wrist and she slid her fingers from Daryl's side. Carl moved to wedge himself between Lori and Rick, letting everyone press a little bit closer. As they shifted closer for warmth, they all murmured their agreement. Carol looked slowly up at Daryl before pressing herself gingerly against his other side. He allowed her close but didn't move to draw her any closer. Instead he moved his other arm to put some space between them. He wasn't ready to allow her that close.. not yet. He gave her a look that said if she tried to get too close to fast he'd grow skittish.

"Later." Daryl whispered, partly to Carol and partly to the group. "My grandmother had the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known. She lived just below the mountains on a small ranch. Deer and rabbits came and went on the property from time to time but mostly she kept dogs and small birds: doves, pigeons, the like. One whole acre of her yard was a garden: rosemary, mint, juniper, sage, lavender, aloe. And a huge patch of Cherokee roses."

"That's how you knew the story." Carol said.

Daryl nodded and said, "She used to take me to visit her mother and the tribe when Merle wasn't 'round. They taught me all the constellations and how to track the moon and sun 'cross the sky. They'd teach me how to find water and what herbs were good for what."

"She sounds like one hell of woman." T-Dog whispered, looking over at Daryl.

"Was she alive when the world went to hell?" Rick asked.

"No. She died back in '04. Thank goodness too... I'd hate to have her see the place the world is now." Daryl whispered, wiping at his eyes again.

"To Gu Le. May her spirit rest in peace somewhere much better than our world." Maggie whispered, lifting the water bottle she had in hand up. Slowly, quietly bottles of water and Gatorade got passed around and lifted in toasts to Daryl's late grandmother who.

Daryl's eyes went to the ceiling and he whispered, "May you walk with your spirit guides and your ancestors on the Sky Road Alisi."

"And may you find peace in this pack my little Waya." a soft voice whispered as the fire popped and crackled at the center of their circle.

_**Alisi: Maternal Grandmother  
Vgilisi: Grandson (when spoken to the child of one's daughter)  
Raven Mockers: an evil being in Cherokee folklore who rob the old, sick & dying of life  
Agwesti: Daughter (when used by a mother)  
Waya: Wolf  
Sky Road: akin to Heaven.  
Gvgeyu: I love you  
Tsalagi: Cherokee language  
Usdi soqua: Little one  
Gu le: Dove**_


End file.
